Cinderella
by Permanent Rose
Summary: After their failed attempt at intimacy, Emma leaves behind her shoes and a lot for Will to think about. Spoilers for The Power of Madonna.


_A/N: I got some requests to write what happened between Will and Emma during The Power of Madonna in Will's POV, so here it is. I can only hope I did Will's character justice. _

_Thanks for reading, and as always, let me know what you think!_

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He had just agreed to have sex with Emma.

Though the conversation had only taken place moments before, he was having trouble recalling the exact content of the rushed exchange.

Emma had approached him, looking slightly frenzied, and Will's stomach had flipped at the mere sight of her. The attraction between the two was obvious—even when he had been happily married and reluctant to admit it, the magnetic pull that drew the two together was impossible to deny. Will could not stop his heart from fluttering every time his eyes fell on her.

She had rambled something about her lack of sex appeal—if only she knew he was struggling with quite the opposite notion, even in this platonic exchange—and muttered more about her lack of ownership for her body and her urgent need to _do_ something about that lack of control.

Her offer was simple.

Sex.

Tonight, seven-thirty sharp, his place.

Had he heard her correctly? Here they were, bartering for sex in the middle of a crowded high school hallway in the same manner he would've asked her to borrow a pencil.

Her brown eyes pleaded with him—and as always, the slightest widening of the chocolate-colored orbs had him lost completely in her devastating gaze.

He agreed; he could do her this favor. And really, getting down to the root of it, a favor was all it was. In her desperate scheme to prove she had control over her body, Will was a necessary factor. And, as with most favors, he owed her one. Really owed her one.

His time alone had given him time to think. The taste of Shelby's lips still burned against his, like a brand that would never fade. Even though the chances of Emma discovering his brief make-out session with Shelby were slim, the guilt that ate at his core did not die away. He wanted to make things right. He needed to prove to Emma—prove to himself—that he could be that prince charming that she had always perceived him to be.

Her arm brushed against him as she headed down the staircase, the brief touch practically igniting Will's skin. His lips involuntarily curved into a smile.

This favor was certainly not going to be an inconvenience to complete.

***

He wanted to do things right—he was intent on making Emma's first time her best time. Though Emma had made her purpose clear—sex in its rawest sense—he didn't want to simply sleep with her and send her out the door.

He made dinner, spaghetti with pesto sauce, a dish she had particularly enjoyed during their brief dating experience. Not a second after seven-thirty, the doorbell chimed pleasantly, and Will found himself growing increasingly anxious as he answered the door.

Emma stood before him, donning a pale blue pencil skirt, a poppy-colored ruffled blouse, and a pair of gold Mary Janes. She looked like she was about to attend a business meeting, not partake in evening plans they had hastily made.

"Come in," he told her, coughing awkwardly as she stepped over the threshold, holding a large purse the same color as her shoes tightly against her side. He kissed her pleasantly on the cheek, feeling the warm blush rise beneath his lips.

"Thanks, Will," she muttered, and he wasn't quite sure exactly what she was gracious for. She clutched her bag tighter, causing her clenched fingers to turn white.

"I made dinner," he informed her, glancing toward the dimly lit kitchen.

"Uh, Will, that's really sweet of you, but um, I was hoping, you know, we could do the…do the deed first…" she muttered, flushing crimson as she kicked her shoes off, a habit Will had insisted was unnecessary, but Emma could never bring herself to potentially trail germs and dirt around a carpeted home.

"Em, we don't have to rush things—we have all night, and we haven't had a proper date in the past few weeks, so I thought it might be nice to talk over dinner first," he told her, taking her hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Will…can we please just do it first, um, because I've finally convinced myself that this is absolutely the right thing to do, and I, uh, you know, don't want to back out now…" She was helpless, floundering for the right words, trying to stand by her firm proposition.

He watched as she bit her lip, fighting tears, and the last thing he wanted was for her to cry. "All right, sweetheart, if you're sure you're ready…"

"I'm ready," she whispered, fiddling with the handle of her purse, and Will could see she was anything but.

He led her to his bedroom nevertheless. "Bathroom's right there," he mumbled, pointing her in the right direction, figuring she'd want to do some primping first.

He sat on the edge of his bed, wringing his hands together as he waited.

After almost fifteen minutes, impatience was getting the better of him. "Em, are you almost ready?"

He heard some shuffling from behind the door. "Almost—just give me, um, like one more minute."

She opened the door so quietly that Will didn't even hear her exit the bathroom. "Ready," she whispered, her voice cracking slightly over the word.

He turned to see her standing in the doorway. He wasn't sure what he had expected her to change into, but he found the lavender nightie to be refreshing. At least she was staying true to herself in this small way.

"You look beautiful," he told her as she approached the bed, his heart fluttering rapidly as he took her hands in his.

A sensation of pleasure coursed through him, boosting his confidence. He stood, lifting Emma into his arms in one graceful swoop. She shrieked, first with fear, but then she relaxed against him, giggling lightly as he spun her in a circle before placing her gently on the bed.

He brushed her red curls away from her face, leaning over to press his lips tenderly to her forehead. He trailed soft kisses down her face, hesitating for a moment when he reached her mouth. "Em, you have to promise me you'll tell me if you want me to stop."

She nodded, her eyes locking with his. He closed the distance between their lips, kissing her sweetly. He kissed her slowly but deliberately, and he soon felt her kissing him back with fervor. She laced her delicate fingers through his curls, intensifying the kiss.

It was the longest Emma had made-out with him without having a panic attack. He continued to kiss her, proud that they had mastered this first step so gracefully.

He brushed his hand ever so lightly against the skin of her thigh, but even the simple touch caused Emma's body to stiffen. For claiming to have no control over her body, she sure had an acute awareness for it. He could feel each muscle in her body tighten protectively as he slid his hand farther up her leg.

His fingers danced softly against the hem of her panties. As he slipped his finger under the elastic lining, she whimpered, and he mistook it for a cry a pleasure, sliding his finger deeper into her underpants.

And that was when she burst into tears.

Will pulled back abruptly, unsure of how to react. "Em, are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

"No, no, no, no, no," she repeated through her sobs, rising from the bed. Will reached to wrap her in his embrace, but Emma pulled away, heading for the safety of the bathroom.

Will heard a few items clatter to the tiled floor as she hastily dressed, and within minutes, she emerged form the bathroom, her skirt off center and her blouse un-tucked.

"Em, we can talk about this—please just calm down," he begged her, following her out of the bedroom.

"No…this was so stupid of me. I need—I need to leave now." She now stood at the front door, on the brink of hysteria. She groped for the doorknob, exiting the apartment before he could utter another word.

He stood, staring at the door for a good minute before he mind could fully register what had just taken place. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glint of gold.

Just like Cinderella, she had left behind her shoes. But unlike in the familiar fairy tale, Will knew exactly who his princess was, and he wasn't about to go chase after her.

Not yet.

She needed some time alone, and though Will had been spending the last few weeks of his life in solitude, he knew he needed some time to himself as well.

It had been stupid of him to allow her to come here and equally as dumb to think he could somehow make everything right with this "favor." Love wasn't about favors, or making things even or fair. It was about respect, a message he had been trying to teach the boys this week, but he himself had failed miserably. Emma deserved better—she deserved her prince charming, a man who would weigh her needs over his, a man who would strive to bring out her best qualities, a man who wouldn't always agree with her to please her but instead think of what was truly best for her.

And Will wanted to be Cinderella's prince charming and give her that happily ever after every princess dreamed of. On the outside, they had messed up their relationship more than Will could've imagined possible in such a short amount of time. But with each mistake, he was learning a valuable lesson. And though he realized he could not give Emma her fairy tale ending, he was going to try his best to give her an ending worth waiting for.

Because, after all, his life would not be the same without her, and he was not about to give up so easily.

Tomorrow, he'd call her, apologizing for his immature behavior, reassuring her that everything between them was still okay.

But for now, he picked up her shoes, bringing them into his bedroom with a bottle of polish, and began to scrub.


End file.
